I remember the good old days, when I wrestled in the Melbourne pro-league under the stage name ‘Bandito Carlito’. The announcers always had a good time saying my name, and so did the fans. Ahh, they’d chant my name all the time, but especially when I climbed up onto the cage bars to perform my signature move: the bandito desperado very-hurto elbow, oh! That was where I jumped and used my elbow to…oh, it doesn’t matter.
No one chants for me any more. See, people in showbiz who have strenuous jobs are forced into normal life so soon, and then what? You just become a successful banker like me, seeking out property advocates to help you buy your third home. Occasionally someone might comment that you’re unusually buff for a banker, but no one would ever guess that I used to dress in brightly-coloured tights and perform camel clutches on jobbers. No, they just see the powerful tycoon with a property investment portfolio large enough to buy an island off Indonesia. The days have certainly gone down for Bandito Carlito. Unless the deal for that island actually goes through and I become Baron Carlito Bandito, in which case I can very much start that island-based wrestling league I’ve always dreamed of having, but the property conveyancing companies in Melbourne have told me that they only deal with city-based property and don’t really have experience in building gigantic wrestling areas on islands that are technically not part of any sovereign nation. Okay, that’s fair enough. I’ll find a specialist.
Maybe that’s a dream for a few years down the line, when I own so much property in Melbourne that the people who sell private islands will have to acknowledge my economic mastery. Also, I can still get recommendations from buyers advocates, since they’re often the ones who know the market and everything about it.
They’re the property experts, I am the expert in leaping from the top ring in a stunning display of elbow-dropping majesty. We all have things we’re good at, clearly.